No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
The horror unfolding right there between the stone, refuge walls made the staunch stallion sway giddily and the resilience of a battle-worn stomach twist with offence. Many things had fouled the fiery, bold gaze of the warrior; death, and blood spilt to stain the powdery purity of fresh soft snow, but nothing as macabre as flesh rotting and falling from its living carrier had before now, confronted him so blatantly. His fluster emanated wildly through the pinch and flare of rattling nostrils, distaste mingling with bewilderment to cloud a normally stoic expression.
The scene was quite horrendous, and the occasional fleeting glance was passed across the black and white brother to note his reaction accordingly. The creature’s vulgar stench filled the cool moisture as it hugged tightly around him, and Hector for the moment was unusually comfortable resigning to the rear of the situation- that was not to say the auburn stallion would sit idly by should things take a turn for the worst. Though silently set behind Midas’ position (to the side where he had been directed forward originally), the sinew beneath the sleek shine of an autumn-thin coat rippled feverishly.
Wings opened suddenly by half- in unison with the wraith’s own, but as the sullied monster’s span collapsed again hopelessly towards the slick wet of the rock flooring beneath, the soldier recoiled his own warning gesture rapidly. Carefully pricked ears sought then, the words which leaked between globs of wretched blood from its sunken mouth. Although death appeared to have a firm grip around the putrid animal, it was not altogether convincing. A chary rumbling made no effort to mask his feelings, stirring in the depths of a flesh-shroud chest before fracturing the tightness of guarded, thinned red lips into an unforgiving tremble- Midas stepped, but stopped again as though pulled in two by some empathetic force Hector could neither see nor feel himself. They were souls bound by battle into close knit friendship- brothers in arms, Diggers; but they were also as dissimilar as the Moon Goddess to her brothers.
As gilt chains plunge to bind the wraith; to secure him, and the safety of those dwelling obliviously in the muggy chambers below, the tawny giant’s eyes broaden with anticipation. The monster began to struggle at once, perhaps sensing the nature of what would soon be the ultimate downfall of that fetid breath swirling through helpless lungs. Hector sprang forward reactively, though the black and white King needed no assistance- that much was plainly obvious. His defence was quickly checked, the chains unyielding, except by the will of their enchanter, and the warrior slipped down the path to watch by, nearer to the flank of wall which grew parallel to that which was inscribed with all manner of history. All the while, he could not help but marvel at the brimming compassion, the careful composure of he who had brought the chaos under control single-handedly; and admire still more than ever the quality of the soul who now lowered so tenderly, filth, into the arms of salvation.
Unremitting gaze found the familiar bottomless pools of gold and softened slightly; curious too that this wraith had been so less wild than those he had previously encountered. They parted with Midas’ then to survey the submerged beast, to witness the cleansing which he too had suffered (to a much less traumatic degree), himself. "I thought he was acting- that his sickness was trying to deceive us." Hector’s hearted thundered, adrenaline still coursing like river-rapids through pulsing veins, but the danger was undoubtedly passed and the orange tri-bred shifted a few steps closer. "We can only hope…" He offered kindly, lowering soft breaths to wash warmly around the other stallion’s brave optimism. Many had been trapped already, though none with clarity (albeit perverted) like this one- he could not squash the ambitious idea altogether though.
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